I Remember You
by syncretic
Summary: For the sake of simplicity: What happens when Squall, er, Leon meets up with Seifer and where did the little hoodlum get his scar anyway?


((I hate putting Author's Notes on things, but this one requires it, I think. The premise of this fic relies on several things: 1. That Twilight Town existed in the canon of the first game, but succumbed to the heartless before Sora ever got the keyblade. 2. That Leon visited Twilight Town before it went bye-bye. 3. That Edea existed in Kingdom Hearts the first. 4. That Seifer in the current KH2 canon is 17, or 16 going on 17 (I honestly don't know, but he's probably younger). Finally 5. That people lived in in the houses and buildings in Traverse Town but you never got to meet them because Sora, being the polite young lad he is, never went bursting into private homes (except for the Final Fantasy house and Gepetto's abode).

Given all this, and the fact that the second game isn't out in the US yet, so I don't know much about its canon, it's probably safe to say this piece has a few AU-_ish_ tendencies. Thankyou and enjoy your show.))

**1.**

_"Oh. You're that guy. I remember you." _

"You do?"

"You're kinda hard to forget."

**2.**

It is a terrible thing to be eleven years old and lost. Home did not look like home anymore and the boy was running from the main square through the debris and the shadows, getting more and more lost with each passing moment. His parents were gone. His friends were gone. His town was slowly but surely succumbing to something dark and terrible and really, he was eleven. What could he do about it?

It was indeed a terrible thing to be so young and so powerless. He tripped over something, some fallen piece of building or perhaps a body, but most likely a bit of debris. There was a thud and a flash of light as he hit his head on the ground. Everything after that went dark. He could smell things that were burning and things that were rotting, like old eggs left in the kitchen garbage for too long. It was disgusting and he lay there, with his arms around his middle, eyes closed, waiting for the world to stop turning.

**3.**

_"I'm surprised you remember at all." _

"I've got a better memory than you. Anyway. It wasn't that long ago."

"Six years must seem longer for me than for you."

"Six? Really?"

**4.**

He heard the hiss before he saw the thing. It was inky and black and about half his size, but since he didn't have claws and couldn't hop around like one of his aunt's Jack Russell terriers, there wasn't much of an advantage for him. He was bigger and slower, but he managed to raise his head and get to his knees, just narrowly avoiding the claw as it swooped down towards him. He skidded back, scrapping up the palms of his hands as he scrambled for safety. They stung and burned but he didn't stop until he felt the rough brick wall against his back.

The thing in front of him was circling, stalking slowly. He was afraid and tried not to be. Being scared was for sissies and he was no sissy. No sir. He set his jaw and tried to glare at the creature. It was ungainly and small, hissing and wobbling and smelling like ink - sour and rank. It closed in on him. "Go away!" he shouted at the creature, his voice betraying him and cracking, rising a few octaves before dropping back down. He picked up a stone and threw it at the monster, but missed.

The creature sprung forward, claws outstretched. He closed his eyes and, even though he tried not to, even though he clamped down tightly on his mouth and throat, he cried out. Screamed as the claw dug into his face and then it was gone, but something warm and sticky was dripping down his face now, into his eyes. It stung and he couldn't see. The stuff dripping down smelled like iron, and tasted like copper. His heart was pounding in his chest. He was scared now.

**5.**

_"I was twenty one." _

"Oh. I guess it was a while ago then. Dunno. Just doesn't seem like so much time has passed."

"I probably shouldn't be here."

"Probably not, but you're here anyway."

**6.**

It was gone as quickly as it'd come. The inky black monster dissolved with the sound of canned thunder - like a thin piece of metal being wobbled back and forth. _Warp, warp, warp..._ The boy hadn't seen who or what made the monster leave, but was grateful to them for it. He wanted to say as much, but his head hurt and made the world spin. The sticky goo in his eyes made it difficult to see so he didn't see the face of the man who picked him up without a word and carried him off like he weighed nothing (not true - he was exactly the right size for his age), away from the dark alley and the spindly monsters. The man smelled like the monsters, but there were gunpowder and fireworks and coffee scents too, so the boy knew that this was _not_ one of the creatures, but someone who was around them often enough - someone who fought them.

_And maybe,_ the boy thought as he rested the side of his face against the man's chest and felt the cool metal plate (it was too big to be a charm like the girls wore) and chain of a necklace. _Maybe I'll do that too._

But first he slept.

**7.**

_"I wonder why." _

"Why what?"

"Why you're here."

"Why I'm here doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

**8.**

The boy didn't remember much about the trip, but he did remember ending up in a place that was very different from home. It was night, darkness fell over the city streets and now he could walk - and the man made him walk. It was no so much a walk as it was the sullen sulk of an eleven year old boy who didn't understand what was happening or why he was where he was and, above all, didn't much care for the company.

The blood had been cleaned away and he could see better now. The man who had helped (because the boy was sure now that he hadn't needed _saving_) was tall and sober with an face that never smiled. It didn't even smirk. It was as if he'd been born with one stock expression: angry. There was a scar on his face and the boy thought that was pretty neat - right up until he felt the cut on his own forehead and discovered that it felt similar - long and down across his nose, just like the man he was skulking behind. The scars probably matched. That was not so neat.

The man wore far, far too many belts and more than once on their sulk through town the boy entertained the thought of grabbing onto one of the lower hanging ones and using it for a swing. Of course, by now the boy was smart enough to know that if he tried that, the man would probably throw him back to the shadow creatures. He suppressed a shudder and, although sure he could take them all on at once if he absolutely _had_ to, he didn't really feel like it at the moment.

It'd almost be worth it though.

**9.**

_"Why?" _

"It just does, okay?"

"...All right."

"Did you come here on your ship like last time?"

**10.**

The man brought the boy to a small house and told him to sit in a chair in the middle of a room that was mostly empty save a bed covered in thread-bare sheets. Without knowing exactly why the boy sat and fidgeted for what seemed like hours before the man returned. A young woman in pink followed him. Words were exchanged, but the boy didn't understand them. Things like "heartless" and "keybearer" floated over his head while the woman fussed over him. She healed him and sent him to bed to rest. Neither of them would answer him when he asked what they were talking about and he considered this most unfair, but did as he was told because she was nice and sweet and smelled like lilacs - and she smiled at him. The boy was at an age where a pretty smiling girl could get him to do whatever she wanted.

She wanted him to rest, so he rested.

In the morning, when he awoke, she fed him breakfast. He hadn't realized how hungry he'd been, but he must've been. He finished off three eggs, four pieces of toast, two tall glasses of orange juice, and a sliced up apple. He could have easily eaten more but stopped there. Little boys could eat four times their weight in a single serving. It was no good making a pig of one's self in front of a lady.

The man returned shortly after the last slice of apple went down the hatch. More words were exchanged - along with names. The woman's name was "Aerith" and she called the man "Leon" - though she slipped once and called him something else. The boy missed it, but Leon's reaction to it was funny. The man screwed up his face into an even tighter scowl and corrected her sharply. She simply smiled in return and told him to eat some breakfast.

He had coffee.

**11.**

_"...Yes." _

"Of your own free will, huh? How come?"

"You're older."

"Quit changing the subject."

**12.**

After Leon had finished his coffee he said they were going to see another lady - one who could take better care of the boy than "they" could. By "they" the boy assumed Leon and Aerith (he also by this point was sure that they were either brother and sister, or married - it was hard to tell). The boy didn't argue, because Aerith was still in the room, fussing over him and digging through old clothing because she said the boy's clothes were torn and stained and that simply wouldn't do. She eventually put a new pair of pants, a shirt, and an old jacket on him - they were a little big and smelled like mothballs, but they were more comfortable than his old clothes. She said they'd been Leon's and the boy muttered something about the smell making sense all of the sudden.

For that, Leon gave him a sharp rap upside the back of his head, but it had been worth it. The man forgot to scowl for three seconds.

They went through town and saw more of the little black spindly creatures, but the monsters didn't bother them. Leon carried a long sword that had a gun handle and that seemed to keep the monsters at bay. Their destination was a building in the third district and inside, on the top floor the boy was introduced to another woman - this one older than the last, but no less prettier. She wore a light gray dress and had long dark brown hair and she smiled, though gently, not bright and cheerful like Aerith had. Leon called her "Matron" and expected the boy to do the same. She would take care of the boy until the "war" (he hadn't realized there'd been a war going on, but what else did you call it when shadow monsters invaded your home?) was over and the boy could go back home to his parents.

While the boy would have preferred going home right away, he didn't mind staying with Matron. She was sweet and gentle like Aerith. He wasn't a perfect child by any stretch of the imagination, but he never had been and he did try to tone down his behavior - if only because he liked Matron. She wasn't his mother, but she was close enough and he was safe there with her until the worlds came back and he was able to go home.

**13.**

"Quit changing the subject," the boy says. He is older now, in that precarious age when people refer to him as a "young man" because he is too young to be an adult, and yet far from a child. He is back home safely, though he hardly remembers his time away or the woman called Matron or the town called Traverse. He does remember Leon and Aerith, but mostly Leon and that is only because the man sits at the cafe table across from him. The scar the shadow creature gave him is still prominent on his forehead though he's tried various means of covering it up. He's settled on a hat, which does not cover the scar at all, but draws attention away from it, which is almost the same thing.

Leon shrugs and takes a long drink from his mug. There is a similar cup in front of the boy and it is half gone. "I'm not changing the subject," Leon replies and sets the cup down. "I came to see you."

"Because I'm older?"

"Mm." Another drink of coffee. The boy stares at his cup and decides to push it away. He's never liked the taste much to begin with. Leon fixes him with a stare that falls just short of a glare. "Something like that." The stare says something else too: _Not old enough._

Soon though. It will only be a matter of a few months before the boy is old enough, but it is not a comforting thought. He has no patience. He snarls and glances across the table, ignoring his friends outside and across the square. It is a terrible thing to be seventeen and not quite old enough, but too old for children's games. This is not a child's game. It is war and it has not yet ended. "So that's it?" the boy sneers.

To his surprise, Leon smiles and pushes a long, black case that has been sitting under his chair across the ground towards the boy. "This is for you," he says. _Because you'll need it._ He stands then, without waiting for the boy to open the case. "I have some things to see to. I'll be back," he says and walks away.

"See ya..." The boy shakes his head and drags the case up onto the table top. Inside is a sleek black blade. The handle is a handgun and there is a supply of ammunition in the case. A gunblade like the one Leon wielded. The boy whistles through his teeth and turns his head to watch Leon walk way, across the square, and slowly closed the case.

"Thanks."


End file.
